


don't be afraid (your mark tells the world)

by johnnlaurenss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnlaurenss/pseuds/johnnlaurenss
Summary: Courfeyrac is no stranger to wearing his heart on his sleeve.He finds it a bit different to wear his soulmate mark on his arm.*In which Courfeyrac plays a poor matchmaker, learns the ups and downs to soulmate marks, and finally gets everyone their happy ending.





	

_don’t be afraid (your mark tells the world)_

 

 

 

 

Courfeyrac is no stranger to wearing his heart on his sleeve.

 

His friends often joke that he’s the most easily read, the most telling in his emotions and reactions, the most moved by simple things. It’s never bothered him—so what if his heart is so large it’s on display for the world? He has a lot of love to give, a lot of emotions bubbling beneath him; it seems shameful to hide that aspect of himself away. So what if it means everyone knows what he’s thinking? So what if it means his friends hold him a little tighter, let their gazes linger a bit longer?

 

No, he’s no stranger to letting his emotions be known, and he isn’t oblivious to the worried looks his friends give him when his emotions wear a bit to strong. He lets them worry; god knows they aren’t strangers to the way he worries for them as well.

 

His well-known reputation, however, comes to nip him on the day of his twenty-first birthday when his mark makes itself known on his forearm. Carefully etched lettering, the words spelling out _fools, those two_ forming a band below his elbow. He traces the words for hours on end—his soulmate’s handwriting, the first words they’ll ever say to him. His phone is going off somewhere, beneath the pillows and blankets on his bed. He only cares for the words, the phrase. He only cares for the two fools to whom he’ll owe a great deal to when they help him meet his soulmate.

 

_Fools_ , Courfeyrac thinks giddily. He knows no fools.

 

He finally draws himself out of bed after he notes the five missed calls from Enjolras, dialing back his best friend as he scours through his closet for clothes to wear.

 

“Good lord, Courf,I was beginning to worry you’d left us entirely just in time for your birthday,” Enjolras muses, and all Courfeyrac can do is roll his eyes fondly.

 

“As if I could ever pull myself away from the best friends I’ve ever known,” he chirps. “I’ve been in bed. It’s the day we celebrate my birth, I think sleeping in is well justified.”

 

Enjolras huffs indignantly. “At the expense of ignoring the best friends you’ve ever known? That seems _rude_. Especially when we’ve been planning a spectacular day-long celebration in your honor.”

 

Courfeyrac squeals. “Oh, you _are_ the _best_ best friends!” he shouts.

 

“You act as if you didn’t expect this,” Enjolras laughs. “As if anything less than a spectacular day-long celebration would be enough for you.”  


“What can I say, I do extra better than anyone else,” Courfeyrac sings. “Is this day-long celebration requiring of certain attire?”

 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine to show up in your glittered Converse and dungarees,” Enjolras says drily. Courfeyrac doesn’t have it in him to berate him—especially as he holds both items Enjolras names in his hands.

 

“Yay!” Courfeyrac cheers instead. “Where are we beginning? What time? Who all will be there? What are the rest of the plans for the day? Oh, will Bossuet be able to come, I know he was sick a few days ago—”

 

“Courf!” Enjolras says. “You and I are going for breakfast—brunch, now, since you slept so late. Though I highly doubt you were actually _sleeping_. Something tells me you’ve been admiring your mark, especially since you nearly never stop talking about the day they finally come.”

 

Courfeyrac isn’t sure what happens, or even why—but at the moment Enjolras mentions his soulmate, something inside of him immediately tenses up. His heart leaps into his throat, he sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers clench into a fist involuntarily. He’s _thrumming_ with tension suddenly, out of nowhere; for someone who so gladly wears his heart on his sleeve, Courfeyrac cannot understand why he’s so suddenly paralyzed; he _wants_ to tell Enjolras, wants to share—but physically he _can’t_.

 

“So come on, then, I know you’re dying to tell me about it,” teases Enjolras. And he would be right. Hours ago, Courfeyrac was counting down until the moment he could see his tattoo and immediately go to tell his best friend about it. But now, the band on his arm seems—sacred, or something. Courfeyrac can’t explain it. Instinctively he’s tracing the band again, his fingers running over the slightly raised skin that only comes from the newness of a tattoo.

 

_Fools_ , _those two_.

 

“Courf?”

 

“Hey, I have to shower before I can come to brunch,” he says suddenly, and he knows he’s startled Enjolras by the sharp intake of breath he hears on the other line. “Sorry, I just—want to meet in like, an hour? And we can brunch. Before all the other festivities.”

 

“Um,” Enjolras says. “Sure? You’re alright, Courf?”

 

Courfeyrac is already making his way to the bathroom, needing desperately something to distract him. “I’m fine,” he lies. “I’ll see you in an hour!”  


“Happy Birthday,” Enjolras says uncertainly, but the call disconnects all the same and Courfeyrac frantically climbs into the shower. He feels _off_ , he feels strange. Having his soulmate mark on his body, the first _words_ he’ll ever hear them say, in their own handwriting—it all seems so intimate, so delicate. He doesn’t want to talk about it with Enjolras over brunch, where they’ll joke and tease as if it’s any other light-hearted conversation. He doesn’t want to show it to les Amis, doesn’t want to hear their quips and guesses as to who his soulmate is or what fools he’ll berate with them.

 

How can they all joke around about their marks? Courfeyrac is one of the youngest, one of the last to get his tattoo. Teasing about soulmate marks has been a constant in their group friendship for as long as Courfeyrac can remember. And yet, as he stands in the shower and shivers despite the warmth of the water, all he can think is _, this mark is intimate and special and it’s mine_. He doesn’t want to share it.

 

Courf watched as Enjolras let his mark slowly turn him against the idea of soulmates altogether. The messy script right underneath his heart, _ah, the fearless leader in red_ , had made him grow weary of the concept altogether. Enjolras no longer wore the color red, and as he took on a leadership position within the ranks of their rallies and protests, he wore the title with grim acceptance.

 

Courf watched as Bahorel fell silent when the words written on his shoulder were not the first words Feuilly said to him on his twenty-first birthday. For a while, no one understood what this meant.Then Feiully’s birthday came and passed and his mark never appeared. The system seemed so unfair at the time—all of les Amis were confused at how two people so in love before the marks appeared could have fallen so far away from each other.

 

Courf watched as Cosette and Éponine found the utmost happiness when Cosette’s mark finally manifested, years of pining between the two of them finally coming to a close as they overcame their insecurities and fell in love.

 

It all seemed so confusing. Courfeyrac sees every side of the soulmate mark, the good and the bad. He understands Enjolras’s indignant attitude towards the idea of soulmates altogether—when he finally meets his soulmate Courf knows he’d be happy with just friendship if that’s all his soulmate wanted. He understands Bahorel and Feiully’s righteous anger at the marks and at the universe—he understands why they cursed out the universe anyway and allowed themselves to be together regardless. Mostly, he understands how Cosette and Éponine can be so for the marks. He sees more joy in their eyes when they’re together than he has ever felt in his life.

 

And yet, despite the circumstances, they rib and ridicule each other about the marks. They tease Jehan about the heavy handwriting, _i know how to hide a body_ outlining the inside of their wrist and jarring the sweet and soft image Jehan usually sets forth. They tease Enjolras as he stands on the pulpit, they Joly and Bossuet about their ridiculously sappy words.

 

Courfeyrac can see them teasing him now, and something about it makes red-hot anger flare through his chest. This is a part of _his soulmate_ , written on his body for the entire world to see. Something seems _wrong_ about that.

 

He wonders if they’ll understand his desire to keep it secret.

 

Eventually he tears himself out of the shower, steadies himself with breath after breath. He throws his dungarees back onto the messy floor of his closet and reaches for skinny jeans instead, pairing it with a soft sweater to encompass his tattoo and finishing it off with the glittered Converse. He’s got thirty minutes before he needs to be at the Musain, fifteen minutes to do something with the pile of messy curls atop his head and to do something about the bags under his eyes. Mostly, thirty minutes to calm himself down enough that he won’t lash out at his friends if they ask him about his mark.

 

He can’t lie to them. He bears emotions far too easily. He hopes desperately that they’ll let him be when they realize this is the one thing he can’t share with them.

 

Enjolras is standing outside the Musain, bouncing on his toes and rushing to Courfeyrac the moment he comes into sight. Enjolras instantly grabs his forearms—close, too close to the mark, and Courfeyrac tenses instinctively.

 

“You worried me,” Enjolras announces. “Tell me you’re okay.”

 

Courfeyrac can’t help it. He laughs at Enjolras’s worry, knocks his arms out of the way so he can wrap Enj in a hug. “I’m good,” he says. “It’s my birthday! I’ve got nothing to be upset about. Not to mention you’re going to be buying me so many things today.”

 

Enjolras seems started by the hug but returns in nonetheless. “You’re oddly affectionate today,” he muses. Courfeyrac nods; this was part of his plan, after all. Overwhelm his friends with his enthusiastic affection to distract them from the fact he doesn’t want to talk about his mark. It seems to be working. “Is it because of your mark?”

 

Or, it seems to fail instantly. Courfeyrac frowns sourly and pushes away from Enjolras. He messily tangles their fingers together as he drags Enj towards a café so they can sit. “I’m starving,” he mutters. “And I’ve wasted too much of my breath talking about the mark already. And it’s my _birthday_! Let’s not focus on it, please?”

 

Enjolras is still staring at him curiously, speculating his reasons for being flippant about the mark. Whatever conclusion he comes to seems to satisfy Enjolras because he nods solemnly and follows Courf wherever he is dragged. He’s grateful for Enj in this moment—a best friend who understands his needs when he is unable to voice them himself for once.

 

***

 

The day consists of Enjolras buying Courf many things, including brunch and ice cream and a sweater proudly declaring in glitter lettering _the most Extra_. They meet up with the rest of les Amis later at night, and Courfeyrac quickly dispels any ideas of going out in favor of cuddling on a couch watching movies and eating shitty pizza. In turn, his friends each press a kiss to his cheek and tell him that they’re glad he chose this because they didn’t want to go out either.

 

They gather at Éponine and Cosette’s apartment, the only location with a couch large enough to fit their large group of friends. The seating arrangement goes as so: Cosette and Éponine claim the love-seat closest to the door, curled up next to each other so they can watch their friends with amusement. Musichetta squeezes in between Joly and Bossuet at the edge of the long couch, Bossuet cuddles up next to them and stretches his legs across the couch until the rest on top of Jehan’s lap. Jehan gladly curls up next to Courfeyrac, who tries in vain to get Enjolras to cuddle him for at least ten minutes as the movie starts before Enj gives in. Bahorel and Feuilly take the other end of the couch, usually curled up against each other or sitting on laps or some variation. There’s always a bit of cuddling in places there shouldn’t be. If there is one thing Courfeyrac knows, it’s that all of his friends rely heavily on moments like these and that cuddles are thrown as often as insults in their little group.

 

It’s a nice setup.

 

About halfway through the film, Éponine asks if she can add another person to Courfeyrac’s celebration, a friend of hers, and Courf readily agrees. Bahorel declares he’s going to need alcohol if he’s expected to finish the rest of whatever horrible movie they’d thrown in, and Courfeyrac is glad to spend the rest of his birthday getting shit-faced with his friends.

 

“To Courf!” Cosette cries as she raises a shot in the air. Various shouts ring out after her cry, and Courfeyrac struggles to remember much passed his third shot.

 

He’s able to focus again after a while, when Éponine’s friend arrives. He’s got dark hair and dark eyes and a nice ass, and he tells Courfeyrac _happy birthday_ even if they don’t know each other. Courfeyrac likes him already, even if he can’t remember the poor guy’s name.

 

Enjolras is somewhere passed his sixth shot, and he stands on Cosette’s kitchen table drunkenly reciting passages from the Declaration of the Rights of Man when Feuilly loudly cheers him on and throws a blanket over Enj’s shoulders like a flag. Enjolras grins and staggers under the sudden weight. The newcomer laughs, taking in Enjolras with guarded and amused eyes, and Courfeyrac is drunk but not enough to miss the next phrase out of his new friend’s mouth.

 

“Ah, the fearless leader in red,” he drawls.

 

The effect is immediate.

 

Instant Courfeyrac feels sobered, and his gasp is echoed by the others in the room. Éponine jolts suddenly, eyes wide, and Cosette looks on with alarm. Feuilly and Bahorel lean on each other with their mouths dangled open in shock, Jehan's fingers are instantly reaching for Joly's as they attempt to steady themselves. The room is silent, collective, and the newcomer seems startled by the change of atmosphere, and Enjolras—

 

He stands on the table, face pale and aghast, blanket dangling off his shoulders. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, his mouth agape, he's so _pale—_

 

"Enj!" Courfeyrac gasps, breaking the silence, and Enjolras lurches off the table.

 

He's stumbling and Courfeyrac can't tell if it's because he's drunk or in shock or what it is, and his own arms are reaching out to steady Enjolras but Enj is reaching towards the newcomer and no one knows how to react, what to say. Enjolras is only a breath away from the man when he yanks back, retreats like he's been burned, stares with widened eyes.

 

" _Enjolras_ ," Courfeyrac whispers again. No one else says a word.

 

"I'm no man but my own," he snarls at the newcomer, and then he's yanking off the blanket that encompasses his shoulders and he's darting for the door and the newcomer sucks in a sharp gasp but all Courfeyrac can think is that he has to follow his best friend.

 

" _Enj_!" he cries, stumbling after him. Too many people are in the doorway, peering after Enjolras as he runs from the apartment. He's fast, but Courfeyrac ran track in his teenage years and he's able to catch up relatively quickly. He wraps his fingers around Enjolras's wrist when he finally catches up, pulls him to a stop and takes a moment to pant for breath. "Enj, wait. _Why_?"

 

Enjolras is panting for breath, face red, and he tears his hand away from Courfeyrac to rub angrily at his eyes. With a jolt, Courf realizes he's _crying_. "I wasn't supposed to meet him," Enjolras snaps. "All I ever do is bitch about this system, right? As if I could act like a predetermined fate is something I'm okay with. As if I could just _trust_ the universe to know what's right for me more than I would know myself."

 

"You don't even know him!" Courfeyrac argues, stung for some reason he can't explain.

 

"That's the problem!" Enjolras shouts. "I _want_ to know him! God, he said those fucking words and something inside of me slotted into place and I felt _right_ again! The universe was fucking right, I _have_ to know him. I thought when I met him I'd be able to say no, to determine myself whether or not our status as soulmates was justified, but I don't even have a _fucking_ _choice_!"

 

Courfeyrac grabs at Enjolras again, wraps his fingers around Enj's forearms and holds him despite his shivers. "Stop. _Enjolras_. It's still your choice. You've only just met him, you don't even know his _name_. You've no obligation to ever see him again."

 

Enjolras is still shaking, he's sucking in desperate breaths and Courfeyrac realizes then than his best friend is on the verge of a panic attack. That realization is all it takes for Courf to wrap Enjolras up in his arms as best he can. Enj only has an inch or two of height on him, but in the moment it doesn't matter as Enj rests his head on Courfeyrac's shoulder and just let's himself shake. "You're okay," he repeats, over and over. "It's okay. You're okay."

 

It takes a moment but finally, finally, Enjolras stops shaking and Courfeyrac leads them to a bench. Enjolras sits without much prompting—to Courfeyrac’s surprise, he actually latches on to Courf the moment he sits down next to him.

 

“I’m going to tell you something, and you’ve got to promise not to tell a soul,” Enjolras murmurs. Courfeyrac squeezes him, agreeing silently to his terms. He’s got no one else to tell, regardless. “I tried to burn my tattoo the day after I got it. I was ashamed—the idea of soulmates terrified me. The idea that there was someone out there for me, a perfect fit, my best significant other… It felt like I was being set up to fail, and the pressure was too much. Alongside the daunting fact that I was heading what felt like a revolution at the time, the tattoo basically solidified the fact that I was supposed to be leading. How could a leader terrified of meeting his own soulmate convince a group of people to rally with me? It was all too much. So I tried to burn the mark off. I thought…it would help. But instead all it did was leave nasty scars and the reminder that the universe still knows more about myself and my destiny than I can ever hope to know.”

 

Something inside Courfeyrac is twisting sourly, and he holds Enjolras a little bit tighter. He’s so _sad_ —maybe he’s still a bit drunk. But his best friend is hurting and in turn it hurts him, too. “Enj,” he says quietly. “You know that whatever you do to your mark…”

 

“Happens to them, too,” Enjolras finishes gravely. “Yes. I learned far too late. That’s another reason I’ve been so afraid to meet him. I— _hurt_ him. He’s supposed to be the one who brings me nothing but joy and I brought pain to him before we even met properly. God, the things he must think about me. The scar on my chest, it’s—ugly. And it’s the same on him. _Courfeyrac_ , he’s going to hate me forever—”

 

“Shh,” Courfeyrac tries to soothe. This is a side of Enjolras he never thought he’d get to see. He didn’t realize how deep the tensions with soulmate marks went, he’s never seen it as anything other than a mark linking him across cosmos and time to the one person best suited for him. He wishes he felt scared like Enjolras—he wishes he knew where his best friend was coming from.

 

“To top it all off, you haven’t even said a damn word about your soulmate,” Enjolras mutters. “You’ve never been able to shut up about them in the past and now on the day you finally have your mark, you’ve got nothing left to say?”

 

Courfeyrac wants to rub at his arm again, but he’s holding Enjolras and it doesn’t seem the time. Instead he sighs, squeezes Enjolras again. “I got my tattoo this morning, and all I could think was _this is a part of my soulmate that I’m going to have with me forever_. It was surreal, it was intimate, I—it didn’t feel right to share. I don’t know. Something changed when I read those words, when I saw the handwriting. I wanted to keep it to myself. I’m sorry.”

 

Enj nuzzles into Courf’s chest, whispers, “It’s okay, I understand.”

 

Courf takes a shuddered breath. He’s _got_ to tell Enjolras now—something tells him that just the knowledge alone will help to soothe his friend. “ _Fools, those two_ ,” Courfeyrac murmurs, and Enjolras stiffens. “That’s what my tattoo says. The first words my soulmate will ever say to me.”

 

It seems to work. Enjolras relaxes in his arms.

 

***

 

Enjolras’s soulmate is named Grantaire, and he sort of becomes a permanent fixture in their lives on the days after Courfeyrac’s birthday.

 

Éponine is hesitant to bring him round again but Cosette insists, and eventually Enjolras tells them to bring him to the next meeting if he’s so inclined to come. He does, and he comes to every meeting and gathering after that. Somehow Bahorel manages to convince Grantaire to go sparring with him, which earns Grantaire the approval of Feuilly and a few other Amis instantly. He wins over Joly when they start talking medicine—Grantaire, though wicked smart, isn’t going to school for medicine but has read far too many books on the subject and has a memory that could rival any of theirs.

 

Courfeyrac is skeptical of him, skeptical of the way he sits at the back of meetings with his eyes trained on Enjolras. He does that a lot—stare. Courfeyrac would be more worried if Grantaire didn’t look so _different_ when he looked on Enjolras. Something about him softens, deep in thought, studying but not calculating. He debates with Enjolras occasionally, challenges all of them to think outside the box while problem solving. Éponine and Cosette adore him, as is expected, and often gush about how well he fits in with les Amis. Courfeyrac wishes he could feel more accepting, but all he can do is fret for Enjolras.

 

“He’s welcome to the meetings,” Enjolras says with a shrug when Courfeyrac confronts him about him. “I’ve never wanted him to leave, he’s part of the group now. Things are…strained, perhaps. He hates me for what I’ve done, but he’s still here. Maybe his status as my soulmate is just to be the one person who pushes me to be a better leader for you. That wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

 

Courfeyrac sees right through it.

 

“You fucking _like_ him!” he shouts, aghast. “Oh my god!”

 

Enjolras blushes a wonderful shade of red, and Courfeyrac is _giddy_. “Courf,” Enjolras hisses, but Courfeyrac can’t hear a single complaint.

 

“Now I can stop pretending I don't actually find him charming,” Courfeyrac sighs dramatically, and he yelps when Enjolras swats him. “What? He _is_. You know it! All of les Amis adore him, you have to admit you didn’t expect that.”

 

Enjolras is still glaring at him, but some of the tension in his shoulders lessens after a moment. “It _does_ help that he seems to fit in so well with les Amis,” he admits. “And he’s…aesthetically pleasing. To look at. I guess.”

 

“He’s hot as hell and you can’t even pretend you don’t see it,” Courfeyrac sings. “This is _great_! Do you want to date him? Have you decided yet? Are you going to stop giving him the cold shoulder now? I’m _so_ excited!”

 

Enjolras is trying desperately not to appear charmed by Courfeyrac’s antics, but they’ve known each other far too long for Courf to be fooled. Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Slow down,” he instructs. “I still want to see where things will go. For all we know, he’ll hate me. After…everything. I’ve still got to be skeptical.”

 

Courfeyrac doesn’t agree He’s seen the way Grantaire looks at Enjolras, always for too long and always a bit too softly. He _knows_ Grantaire is feeling it, too. His brain is already turning with all the ways he could get them together.

 

“I _know_ you’re plotting,” Enjolras whines.

 

“How do you _know_?”

 

Enjolras levels him with a hard look. “The same way I know your coffee order, the same way I knew you’d show up wearing your galaxy leggings and alien sweatshirt today because of your club meeting later, the same way I know everything else—you’re my stupid best friend?”

 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes and jumps rather precariously onto Enjolras’s back; he just laughs and shoulders the sudden weight, supporting Courfeyrac as he says, “You could do without the insult next time, but you’re my stupid best friend, too.”

 

That’s exactly why Courfeyrac continues plotting, even after Enjolras glares at him and asks him not to. He can _do_ this without either of them getting hurt, and he’s got a _plan_.

 

“Grantaire!” he singsongs a day or so later, after a meeting has ended and Grantaire has lingered a bit too long. “Hello, new friend.”

 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Are we friends now, Courfeyrac?”

 

Courfeyrac covers his heart and acts over-the-top offended, knowing he’s already won Grantaire over when the corner of his lip twitches in a smile. “Why, we’ve always been friends! You came to my _birthday_ party.”

 

“And ruined it,” Grantaire reminds him, which is absurd.

 

“That’s absurd,” Courf says easily. “We drank too much, I ruined it myself when I threw up in three different potted plants. You made the night more exciting.”

 

Grantaire can’t hide his smile anymore after that. “I didn’t think you wanted to be friends with me.”

 

That surprises Courfeyrac, long enough to take him aback and derail whatever question he wanted to ask next. It takes him a moment to figure out how to respond, a stuttered response, “Um, why?”

 

“Your best friend is Enjolras,” Grantaire points out. “And he’s not my biggest fan.”

 

Courfeyrac furrows his brow. “Source?”

 

Grantaire flinches, and after glancing around briefly lifts his shirt enough that Courfeyrac can see the bottom of the burned scar staring dauntingly back at him. His face drops. “Enjolras made it quite clear that he doesn’t want me,” Grantaire says, feigned easiness, and— _oh_.

 

_Wonderful_.

 

Courfeyrac can _work_ with this.

 

He’s trying desperately not to smile. “I think you’ve misinterpreted the situation,” he says, and Grantaire glares at him.

 

It’s so similar to Enjolras; Courfeyrac doesn’t doubt their soulmate status for a moment.

 

“I think I read it pretty clearly,” he murmurs.

 

“Give Enjolras a chance,” Courfeyrac encourages. “You’ve seen him up there. I’ve seen you watching him. I’m sure you’ve noticed how scared he can get from time to time. He’s just scared right now, don’t hold that against him. He’s our leader, yes, but he’s not older than any of us and he’s still just as afraid as all the rest of us.”

 

“You’ve not met your soulmate yet?” Grantaire asks. “And yet you’ve had your mark for over a month now! I’ve heard from the others that you were the most enthusiastic about receiving your mark. They’ve placed bets as to how long it will take.”

 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. That _does_ sound like his friends. “Firstly, don’t think your plan to change the subject worked, because we’ll be circling back. Secondly, no. I’ve not met them yet, which is fine. My friends should learn to stop meddling.”

 

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Grantaire shoots back, and the corner of his mouth twitches again.

 

Goddamn.

 

He’s got Courfeyrac, there.

 

Courfeyrac pouts.

 

“They’re worried about you,” Grantaire adds, as an afterthought. “You don’t talk about your mark or your soulmate anymore. It’s not my place, we scarcely know each other. But—they do worry.”

 

Courfeyrac sighs. “Their worry is misplaced,” he tells Grantaire. “I’ve got my mark, I’ll met them one day. I just…don’t have the desire to share, is all. It seems personal. Intimate. I’d like to keep it to myself until I’ve got a person to match the words to.”

 

Grantaire is peering curiously at him, and it makes him self conscious. “You surprise me,” he says after a while. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you, is all. I’ve got a friend who has a similar mindset. Actually, I just pictured introducing you two and I’m far too amused, I think you’d shock him.”

 

Courfeyrac can’t help his intrigue—“Why?”

 

Grantaire just raises an eyebrow at him, takes in Courfeyrac’s appearance; dungarees, a crop top, glittered Converse, even the bandana headband in his hair. “He’s a med student,” Grantaire laughs. “I think he owns one pair of regular trousers. He gets along with everyone, I just—I think you’d be the one person who’d be able to surprise him.”

 

“A little Latino boy with glittered Converse and more flamboyance than anyone else in Paris?” Courfeyrac sighs. “I suppose I see your point. Tell your friend I'd love to meet him."

 

Grantaire winks conspiringly at him. "Maybe he's your soulmate."

 

Something flutters inside Courfeyrac at the thought, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face as his stomach knots with butterflies. "I don't think you've earned the right to joke about my soulmate when you refuse to even talk to yours."

 

Grantaire scowls, and Courfeyrac can't help but giggle because it looks so absurd. "He doesn't want to talk to me."

 

Courfeyrac touches Grantaire's arm and smiles at him. "I think you're forgetting that he is indeed my best friend; I know all his secrets. He has... regrets. You should try talking to him sometime, outside of trying to dispel his arguments all the time."

 

Grantaire smiles and Courfeyrac takes that as his confirmation. He's got no business left to attend to, save for asking Jehan where they bought their sweater, but Grantaire grabs at him in alarm when he starts to walk away. "You know I'm for these causes, too, right?" he whispers frantically. "Idealistically. Your rallies are causes I want to support. But if I don't challenge you, if I don't tell you where things are going to go wrong, no one will. I argue with him because it makes things better for your fight. I don't do it because I disagree. I'm a skeptic and I like to pick fights but I'm not a fool, and I believe in equality for all."

 

Courfeyrac winks at him, and in his typical fashion makes a move to tangle his fingers messily with Grantaire's. Grantaire looks surprised by the gesture but nonetheless smiles at the sight of their twined hands. "You're a part of this family now, 'Taire. You needn't worry about us thinking you don't belong."

 

***

 

It's a lot harder to play matchmaker after realizing that the two parties are aware of their status as soulmates but both unwilling to go forward.

 

Courfeyrac tries in vain to get them to spend time together. He finds out that Grantaire is an excellent artist so he asks him to come and help them paint posters for an upcoming rally. His plan should work brilliantly; he got Grantaire to agree and Enjolras is none the wiser that they're waiting for Grantaire to show up. Before Grantaire can get there, however, Enjolras gets a phone call and darts out of the Musain shouting about an emergency of some sort. Grantaire shows up not long after and has the _nerve_ to look crestfallen when he notices Enjolras isn't there. Courfeyrac sighs.

 

Éponine and Cosette agree to help him, and they invite Grantaire and Enjolras over to dinner separately. The plan is for Courfeyrac to go so Enjolras will, and then mysteriously get called away to leave them coupled off like a double date. That plan also goes south when Grantaire doesn't show up; a few texts to Éponine reveal his bus broke down and he was stranded outside of the city. Courfeyrac lays his head on the table and bemoans himself.

 

He spends more time with Grantaire than he originally intended to. Grantaire is strange and skeptical and sometimes his scathing remarks cut too close to home, but he loves Courfeyrac's wardrobe and they paint together and they both have the best sense of humor when it comes to bad puns.

 

"Never fear, I'm queer!" Courf will announce anytime he enters a room where Grantaire is, dragging out the word to make it sound like 'here'. "My dear friend Grantaire, how are you doing?"

 

"Oh, I'm getting bi," Grantaire will reply every time with a smirk.

 

The others will groan and roll their eyes, every time. It's a nice system. Enjolras doesn't have the same appreciation for puns as Grantaire and Courfeyrac, and he spends almost as much time being exasperated over their budding friendship as he does whining that Grantaire wont date him. Spending time with the both of them and listening to their pining, all Courfeyrac can think is that his friends are fools.

 

Courfeyrac's heart leaps in his chest.

 

_Fools_ , he thinks giddily. _Fools_ , _fools_! Of _course_! Enjolras and Grantaire are the fools who will bring him face to face with his soulmate; he's going to meet his soulmate _soon_. Every doubt he's ever had is suddenly replaced with exuberant joy as he realizes he's going to know his perfect half sooner than he'd planned, he'll get his happy ending when Enjolras finally gets his as well. God, Courfeyrac could _fly_ , he's ecstatic.

 

"Thank you!" he sings at Enjolras the next time he sees him, unable to keep his good mood contained. He presses a kiss to Enjolras's forehead, to Grantaire's, to Cosette's, to everyone else he can reach and all of them stare at him fondly.

 

"Our Courfeyrac is back," Jehan sighs happily, and Courfeyrac is inclined to agree.

 

He's a horrible matchmaker, but his pitiful matchmaking skills are bringing him one step closer to the ideal love of his life, and nothing else seems to matter.

 

Grantaire seems to pick up on his good mood more than anyone else. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say dear Courf had finally met his soulmate," he teases. "I've never seen this side of him before. It's... cute."

 

Courfeyrac scoffs, but dramatically drapes himself across Grantaire regardless of the thinly veiled insult. "I'm the _cutest_ , thank you very much."

 

Grantaire pinches his hip and Courfeyrac lets out a sharp cry. Across the room, Enjolras bursts into laughter and has to look away from Courf and Grantaire as the giggles make him shake. Grantaire's gaze immediately snaps to Enjolras, and because of the way Courf is draped across him he's able to feel the tension leave Grantaire's shoulders. "Agree to disagree," he murmurs, still staring at Enjolras. Courfeyrac has to admit he concurs with Grantaire's assessment.

 

"That friend I was telling you about? His finals ended last week, he finally has time to come meet you," Grantaire says later. "He says he can't wait to meet the exuberant butterfly who managed to convince me to give love a chance. His words, not mine.”

 

Courfeyrac grins. “He thinks I’m a butterfly? That’s charming.”

 

Courfeyrac knows _exactly_ what he’s going to wear when he meets Grantaire’s friend. He’s got a lovely butterfly tank top that he’s sure will rise to the occasion.

 

“Did you finally convince him to meet Combeferre?” Enjolras asks from across the room. Everyone perks up at that.

 

“Are we adding yet another member to our little gang?” asks Cosette. She’s sitting on Éponine’s lap, the corner of her lipstick smudged a bit from where she’d kissed her girlfriend’s cheek. Éponine wears the lipstick mark like a badge of honor. “We’ve only just brought in Grantaire—I thought you’d all need months before you’d be ready to meet someone new.”

 

“You act like we’re grossly codependent or something,” Courfeyrac teases. Cosette just raises an eyebrow at him and looks across the room. And he supposes he sees her point—all of les Amis are touching in some way or another, cuddling or holding hands or braiding hair. He’s sure there isn’t a single one of them that has gone a full twenty-four hours without seeing at least one of their friends for a lengthy amount of time.

 

“She’s got a point,” Grantaire muses. Enjolras shoots him a look.

 

“As if you’re excluded from her statement,” he argues. “Since your introduction you’ve not gone a day without talking to Bahorel or Courfeyrac. You’re a part of us now.”

 

Courfeyrac watches in shock as Enjolras turns suddenly, blushing from his head to his toe. Courfeyrac wants to tease him about it—Enjolras, marbled stone, finally bearing his feelings for the world to see. He’s opening his mouth to make a remark, but the words catch in his throat. He’s recognized the way Grantaire stiffens, and it doesn’t take Courfeyrac long to figure out what’s about to happen. He’s too late to stop it as Grantaire spits out, “I’m no man but my own.”

 

Enjolras instantly recoils.

 

Courfeyrac is already clambering off of Grantaire, already knows he’s going to try and leave now—he’s caught between comforting Enjolras or chasing after Grantaire and reminding him how Enjolras truly feels.

 

Grantaire is mumbling apologies as he staggers to the front door and Enjolras turns on his heel and storms to his room. Courf is alone with everyone else, and he wants to _tear_ his hair out. “Can’t you just _talk_ to each other for one goddamn second!” he shouts. Enjolras slams the door.

 

Musichetta is the first one to reach Courfeyrac, grasping his arms. “They’ll learn to talk to one another in coming days,” she reassures him. “They’re soulmates, that means something, and they’ll understand that some day—”

 

“Chetta, I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you’ve not gotten your mark yet,” Courfeyrac snaps. “You don’t understand the fear that comes with it. I know you’re trying to help, but they’re both terrified and I don’t know how to _explain_ that to someone who hasn’t felt that same fear.”

 

Musichetta recoils instantly. “Take it back,” she snarls. Courfeyrac forgets sometimes that she’s taller than him, forgets that he only knows the soft side of her because of how long they’ve been acquainted, forgets that above everything else Musichetta is tough and terrifying. “Take it _back_ , Courfeyrac!”

 

He juts his chin out stubbornly.

 

“Don’t tell me I don’t know _fear_ ,” she sneers. “I _know_ fear. I’m the only one left without a mark, and I already _know_ that the people I want to spend the rest of my days with are right here in this room! They’re already soulmates—where does that leave _me_? Don’t you _dare_ tell me I don’t know fear! I’m only weeks away from my birthday now and every day I wake up terrified that my mark won’t tie me to them. _You_ don’t know fear!”

 

She turns on her heel and instantly Joly and Bossuet are there to comfort her, wrapping her in their arms and shooting mutual frustrated looks in Courfeyrac’s direction. They leave without much further ado, and he’s left with Cosette and Éponine staring at him with varying expressions of anger.

 

“You shouldn’t have said that, Courf,” Cosette chides. “We’re all afraid. Enjolras and Grantaire are just being stubborn.”

 

“So quick to fight about the marks after you’ve spent months being silent!” Éponine bursts out. Cosette grabs fast to her hand. “We’d begun to worry you’d ceased caring about your soulmate altogether. And then to come out of nowhere with scathing remarks, directed at the people who care about you regardless of what your mark does or doesn’t say?”

 

Courfeyrac groans loudly, tugs at his curls. “I _know_ I shouldn’t have said it,” he mutters. “I’m just—I care about them. I want them to get what they deserve, they deserve _happiness_ , and all they do is fight.”

 

“People fight,” Cosette tells him. “That’s what relationships entail. You aren’t always going to agree with one another every second of every day. God above knows that Ép and I have had our fights. Everyone knows that Enjolras and Grantaire care for each other. It’s only a matter of time.”

 

Courfeyrac turns to look at them after a moment. He finally lets go of the curls he’d been pulling, and looks at them sheepishly. “I’ve embarrassed myself,” he murmurs. “It’s just—those two are going to be the ones who lead me to my soulmate. Which sounds selfish, and that’s _not_ why I want them to figure their shit out—I’m going to start over.”

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“I didn’t share any details about my soulmate because it seemed personal, and wrong, and—it just seemed better to keep it to myself. I’ve realized recently that Enjolras and Grantaire are going to help me find whoever it is. I wanted them to figure their shit out beforehand, because Enjolras is my best friend and because I really like Grantaire, but now—maybe it _is_ selfish. Maybe I’m just being selfish. This whole thing, it’s just been confusing and overwhelming and… I don’t know.”

 

Cosette stands, finally, and closes the space between them to wrap Courfeyrac in a gentle hug. “Sweet boy,” she coos. “You shouldn’t fret so much. The universe knows you; trust it. I know you’ve heard Enjolras swear that the universe could never know what’s best for him. But you’ve seen him with Grantaire. He’s _changed_. Let your worries go and everything will work out for you. That’s how it happened for Éponine and I, after all.”

 

Courfeyrac can’t help but smile at the soft look Cosette shares with her soulmate after that. He _wants_ that, one day. And the universe does seem to think he’ll find it. He should be more trusting—and he shouldn’t be so cruel to his friends. He sighs again.

 

“I’ve got a lot to fix,” he murmurs.

 

“Start with Musichetta,” Éponine advices. “Leave it to Cosette and I to get the boys together so you can apologize at once. Perhaps you can convince them to give each other a second chance as well.”

 

Courfeyrac grins, crooked. “I’d be lost without you,” he tells them, and he’s already on his way to apologize to Musichetta.

 

He’s lucky—he catches the three of them making their way slowly to one of their apartments. Musichetta tenses when she turns and sees him sprinting towards her. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he gasps. “I’m a damn idiot, you know?”

 

Musichetta raises her eyebrow at him. Joly and Bossuet still flank her, holding both of her hands and sharing looks with one another. Courfeyrac _knows_ Chetta is trying to seem tough—but he can _see_ her mouth twitching as she tries to fight off a smile. She never could stay mad at him.

 

“I mean it,” he insists. “I didn’t know what I’m saying. I let my own fears and insecurities bubble over into our friendship and that was unfair of me, and uncool, and I said things that were _incredibly_ wrong. And I’m sincerely sorry.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him. “I know,” she says fondly. “It’s just—all of us are scared. Try to keep that in mind.”

 

Courfeyrac nods rapidly. “Of course, of course,” he babbles. “Are—we good?”

 

Chetta snorts, _finally_ smiles, and lets go of her boys to stuff Courfeyrac into a hug. He’s laughing, glad, until she nuzzles his curls with the palm of her hand and he squawks indignantly. They’re good; he knows that on some level Musichetta will always be able to forgive his horrible qualities. Thats what les Amis are for, after all. Unconditional love and friendship.

 

“Now I know you’ve got more things to fix,” she says, shooing him away. “Let us know when they finally kiss and put us all out of our misery.”

 

Courfeyrac crinkles his nose. “If you really think our suffering is going to end when they kiss, you’ve never met Enjolras. They’ll be almost as disgustingly in love as you three, or as Cosette and Éponine.”

 

They all laugh at him for that. No one argues.

 

There’s a text on his phone from Cosette when he finally checks it after he rushes away.

 

**From: cassette tape**

[8:09] we aren’t going to be able to get enj out tonight :( we did convince him to go to the cafe for brunch tomorrow tho and ép says taire agreed too but he’s bringing his friend bc he already had plans

 

**To: cassette tape**

[8:19] is this the friend who called me a butterfly?????????

 

**From: cassette tape**

[8:20] idk but even if i did i’d pretend i didn’t

[8:21] you have weird friends

 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.

 

**From: cassette tape**

[8:21] you’re one of them :))))))

 

He can wait until tomorrow. That gives him time to form a plan, to make sure he gets these damn fools together before they _kill_ him.

 

***

 

He’s twenty minutes late to the Musain after he gets caught up with arguing with some asshole on the street. Courfeyrac in the middle of telling the jerk that his ‘pro-life’ argument is hypocritical if he’s going to shout racial slurs at little Latino boys as they walk across the street when his phone starts buzzing violently and he realizes he’s late. He flips the jerk off one more time before bursting into a sprint.

 

In hindsight, wearing his army jacket was not his _brightest_ idea. He’s almost upset that it matched so perfectly with the t-shirt with tiny cacti on it.

 

He bursts into the café panting for breath, eyes darting around until he finally catches sight of Grantaire and Enjolras sitting at a table scowling at each other as they argue. “ _Fuck_ ,” Courfeyrac whines. He takes a step forward before he catches sight of something that freezes him in place. Those bastards are _holding hands_.

 

“ _Bitch_ , hold the fuck up,” he whispers. Silently, shocked, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and snaps picture after picture of his two favorite fools _holding hands at a goddamn café_. “Oh my god, they’re _smiling at each other_!”

 

Courfeyrac knows he’s talking to himself, but god be damned if he cares. They didn’t even _need_ his matchmaking skills! He’s kind of offended, if he’s being honest.

 

Grantaire says something that makes Enjolras roll his eyes and make a move to pull his hand from Grantaire’s—much to Courfeyrac’s surprise, Grantaire tightens his grip and even _pulls_ Enj’s hand closer so he can press a soft kiss to Enj’s knuckles.

 

“Dear lord, have mercy on my soul, for I will be dead soon,” Courfeyrac gasps. They _still_ haven’t noticed him, they’re so wrapped up in each other. Assholes. Courf wishes he could actually be mad at them.

 

“Fools, those two,” says a voice from behind him. Courfeyrac snorts.

 

“That’s an understatement— _wait_ , holy _shit_!”

 

Courfeyrac whirls around. His heart is pounding in his chest, he suddenly feels like he might _burst_ , or maybe his heart will just _beat right out of his own damn body_.

 

His soulmate looks just as shocked as he feels.

 

Okay, so the first thing Courfeyrac notices is that his soulmate is goddamn _beautiful_. They both stare at each other, mouths agape and eyes wide, and for a second that’s all they can do. Courfeyrac is vaguely aware that he shouted pretty loud, that he drew all eyes on the two of them, but he doesn’t even _care_ about anything anymore.

 

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asks, and _great_ , now the asshole has the audacity to notice him. Courf can’t even _acknowledge_ him right now.  


“Courfeyrac,” his soulmate repeats, and the name sounds _gorgeous_ from his mouth. Courfeyrac thinks he might be trembling. “That’s—your name is Courfeyrac.”

 

“Yes,” Courf breathes. He’s vaguely aware that his hand is reaching out, stretching towards his _soulmate_. He’s a lot taller than Courfeyrac imagined. He freezes before he does something stupid like grab his soulmate’s arm or kiss him.

 

“I’m Combeferre,” his soulmate murmurs. He finally breaks his gaze from Courf’s when he glances at his forearm and moves to roll up his sleeve. _Combeferre_. He’s wearing a damn button-up, and Courfeyrac is impossibly charmed.

 

On his forearm reads the words _that’s an understatement_ in Courf’s handwriting—to his surprise, it looks like it’s been scribbled out and written underneath it is _wait_ , _holy shit_. Courfeyrac lets out a breathless laugh.

 

“I was wondering what that was about,” Combeferre says, a bit breathless himself. Courfeyrac is _giddy._

 

Courfeyrac hurries to slide out of his jacket, holding up his arm to show Combeferre the band on his forearm, the words _fools, those two_ forever symbolizing this first moment—the beginning of their story. Where they begin, and end, and everything in between. Combeferre laughs; he still sounds startled.

 

Courfeyrac launches himself at Combeferre, wraps him in the tightest hug he can manage. “ _Oh my god hi I’ve been waiting for this day for so long it’s so nice to meet you_ ,” he gasps. He’s sure he makes no sense, but Combeferre is trembling too and holds him just as tightly, and Courfeyrac feels _safe_.

 

“My god, they’re soulmates,” Courfeyrac hears Grantaire murmur. He remembers suddenly that there’s other people there; Combeferre seems to realize this at the same time, and they both pull away blushing brightly. A few people around them start to applaud.

 

Combeferre does this endearingly dorky little wave, and Courfeyrac bows to their applause.

 

“We should have introduced them sooner,” Enjolras whispers loudly, and Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. He turns to face his best friend, who is grinning smugly at him.

 

“You couldn’t even get your own damn love life together, don’t you even _start_ with me,” Courfeyrac retorts. He loses the bite to his voice when he feels Combeferre slide his fingers through his. Suddenly that’s all he can focus on. “Oh, hand-holding, that’s sudden and new. I like it, I agree to continue this.”

 

Combeferre is grinning brilliantly at him, and _oh—_ he wants to continue _that_ as well, wants to see that beautiful grin every day of his life.

 

“As much as I enjoy seeing this side of you,” Combeferre begins. Courfeyrac _loves_ his voice already, low and smooth and gorgeous. God, he’s a goner—there’s truly no hope for him. “I’d very much like to get to know you, perhaps not in a café where everyone is making heart eyes at the newly matched soulmates?”

 

Courfeyrac likes that idea _very_ much.

 

He practically drags Combeferre out of the café, chanting, “Bye guys, I’m going acquaint myself with my soulmate and you probably won’t hear from me for a few days, love you!”

 

Combeferre blushes a rather nice, dark shade. “Oh my god.”

 

Courfeyrac stops outside, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh no, have I embarrassed you? I’m sorry, I don’t have a filter—that’s probably something I should start with. I can… chill out, though.”

 

Combeferre laughs, music to Courfeyrac’s ears. “No, of course not—don’t change a thing. I’ve heard great things about you, Courfeyrac. I almost wish I’d paid more attention to Grantaire’s speakings about you. Had I known you were my soulmate, I might have. Just—bear in mind, I’m…not used to implications. About how we’ll be spending our next few days.”

 

Courfeyrac nudges Combeferre teasingly. “Why, Combeferre, I am a man of _honor_. Are you implying there’s something else we’ll be doing with our days aside from talking and getting to know one another? Whatever _could_ you be implying—?”

 

Combeferre growls, low and throaty.

 

“ _My apartment is only, like, two blocks away_ ,” Courfeyrac practically yells. Combeferre laughs again.

 

He’s so _happy_ ; god, he didn’t realize people could feel this way. Everything is in place, everything is as it should be. And his soulmate is holding his _hand_ and—oh, Courfeyrac gasps when Combeferre suddenly tugs him into an alley.

 

“Wha—” he begins.

 

He’s cut off when Combeferre presses him against a wall, traps him between the bricks and his body. A soft gasp escapes his lips when Combeferre leans forward, his breath ghosting along Courfeyrac’s cheekbones.

 

“I apologize if I’m being too forward,” he begins. “But I’ve simply…been imagining this day for so long. I’ve imagined what it would be like to see you, to hold your hand. To hold your body, to…kiss you. And. I’d very much like to find out how that last one feels, right now. If you’re alright with that.”

 

Courfeyrac grabs Combeferre’s face and kisses him, doesn’t need more prodding. It’s like nothing he’s ever known before—it’s lovely and torture, overwhelming and yet not enough. Combeferre is soft, pliant, adapts to Courfeyrac’s kisses easily. Then suddenly he turns the tables, he takes control, the kisses turn heated as he slides his tongue along Courfeyrac’s bottom lip. Courfeyrac gasps, twines his fingers in the short hairs at the back of Combeferre’s neck, relishes in the way Combeferre’s hands grip at his hips and tug him closer. It’s wonderful, it’s exhilarating, it’s—

 

Combeferre pulls away after a moment, rests his forehead on Courfeyrac’s. “My god,” he breathes. “That was—you’re—”

 

_Perfect_.

 

***

 

His friends tease him, of course, when they find out what his tattoo says.

 

Combeferre squeezes his hand and kisses his jaw, and Courfeyrac finds he doesn’t mind the teasing.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://feuillyys.tumblr.com) crying abt les mis or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tannscotts) posting about various things.
> 
>  
> 
> comment, kudos, bookmark below!


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